


Never Enough

by upallnightstrungtight



Series: checklist [1]
Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upallnightstrungtight/pseuds/upallnightstrungtight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They usually make it farther than the wall right beside the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I do to cheer myself up.

The click has barely faded when he’s pulling Henry down by his shoulders to meet his mouth, a highly anticipated return visitor conveying his pent-up longing by pushing his tongue against Henry’s own. No murmured greeting, no preamble, just _mine_ and _want_ and _need_ given form in motion. It might be Ryeowook making him weak in the knees that has him sinking the both of them down to the hard floor, but he’ll never tell. Ryeowook is relentless, moving him as he pleases, but Henry’s the one who lets him.

With that same directness, there’s no hesitation, Ryeowook working his pants open in a flash and pulling down the waistband of his underwear just enough to fit as much of his cock in his mouth as he can on the first go. Henry regrets even bothering to dress up; he really should’ve known this would happen, since it’s been so long. There wasn’t even enough time to react, nonetheless make an attempt at prompting Ryeowook to voice his desires. It was his own voice being put into play instead, a steady stream of “Fuckfuckfuck” under his breath, repeating like an incantation broken up by helpless bursts of air that are almost vowels. Wet heat and steadily increasing suction have wiped out the rest of his vocabulary. This is immolation, it’s every sultry, promise-filled look ever directed at him, laser-focused through Ryeowook’s mouth. It _must_ be, because it’s burning him, incinerating the wall chilling him through his thin shirt and elastic starting to dig into his thigh and all rational thought.

Frenzied. Hasty. So fast that he would worry that it’s a strain, if he could manage that in the first place. Ryeowook groans, soft, trailing off, as though he doesn’t mean to but can’t help himself, or doesn’t notice at all. His eagerness drives Henry to stunned incoherence. He desperately grasps at whatever’s in reach - his own knee, Ryeowook’s shoulder, his neck, his wrist, and that sensation is what brings him to his senses for a moment. He lets go, breathing hard, and smoothes Ryeowook’s bangs back from his face, earning him a pleased hum that jolts him, regardless that the strands fall right back where they were. _I can’t believe you love me,_ he thinks, years compressed into a lurch just below his ribs, familiar and comforting. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he _should_ say anything. “Love you,” he says anyway, his pitch low, his tone gentle. The shapes of the syllables are pleasant to make, laced with more truth than he can bear to keep locked inside.

Ryeowook’s panting takes on a broken rhythm. Nothing else is out of place. No, that’s not true, his eyes are shut tighter now, looking almost painful. Henry’s caught wind of something at once tense and mystifying; he feels that shift, more subtle than ever. Ryeowook’s hand settles over his. It’s the one place his lover’s touch feels clumsy, distracted, but he’s reaching out and that’s important, even like this. While it makes him more aware of the mild aches than he’d prefer, Henry shifts his weight onto his left hand so that he can flip over his right. His fingertips grip the heel of Ryeowook’s palm, his thumb curved over the side, and where they join feels just right. Squeezing back, Ryeowook picks up the beat again.

It’s more difficult, trying to ignore the dull pains springing up. It’s also a million times better. Such a simple gesture, a squeeze of the hand, a triviality to anyone else. And yet, it’s all wrapped up in countless heartrending reminders of having that when it was needed most - stoicism crumbling beneath too many tears to hold back, overcrowded airports crushing them with an army of lights, maddening silence, unceasing thoughts of capitulation. Exhaustion. Fear. Every time it felt like nothing could ever be the same again. Every time it’ll feel like that again. Best to stay in the present, while he can, where Ryeowook keeps pulling him towards an elusive state of thought-free bliss with his ministrations. “Love you,” Henry gasps, because he can’t do anything else.

Perhaps because he’s a tormentor at heart, Ryeowook pauses, which is frustrating but makes it easier to take in the sight of him looking up with a warm, happy gaze. Sweet, if incongruous, almost innocent in contrast to his mouth, stretched open and slick, shiny with temptation embodied. Carnal, in the best sense. Then, with a muted pop, there’s nothing but the warmth of his breath, _then_ he licks slippery spirals over the head of his cock and words don’t exist anymore.

Ryeowook takes his hand back and Henry misses it already. He’s more than compensated for the loss, brief though it’s sure to be, by Ryeowook pulling his waistband lower down his thighs, stroking him with his hand while his mouth detours to- holy _fuck_ , it’s just tiny little licks but even that’s right on the verge of too much. He moans a parade of curses, resisting the urge to thrash his head, his nails scrabbling at hardwood. Too soon for his liking, Ryeowook not only stops stroking but stops touching him entirely, stops everything, and he refuses to believe that that needy whine actually came from him. While looking up at him, Ryeowook leans forward, holds his cock on his tongue, expression first mischevious, then sultry, as his mouth envelops him once more, agonizingly slow.

Whimpering with frustration, Henry stays as still as his trembling allows because anything that could bring this to a halt is too great of a risk. Next time, he’ll ask permission for next time, the memory of his fingers wound through Ryeowook’s hair, trusting him enough to stay still and let him slide his cock in and out of that pretty, pretty mouth, trusting that he would be attentive and caring and not go too far, that’s enticing beyond compare. However, so is this, right now, unremitting enthusiasm welded to practice makes perfect. The minutes blur into each other, or hours, whichever it is. The fleeting thought has disappeared. There’s nothing except the debauchery that Ryeowook coaxes forth with his lips and tongue and the barest hint of teeth, pressure and texture varying unpredictably as his speed ratchets higher and higher, pedal to the floor. This is why he’s the embrace of the ocean, engulfing, overpowering, sweeping him away to wherever he pleases. Relentless is definitely the right word for the power he commands. Henry’s inner thigh turns cold for an instant where Ryeowook’s hand leaves it, his body blocking its path from view, but there’s enough left to see the motion of his upper arm, a keen reminder that it’s not only _want to please you_ but moreso an all-consuming _want you_.

Henry can feel quivering start in his wrists and move all the way up. He’s frantic, groaning more and more uneven. He’s sure he’s babbling. Or begging. There’re sounds that should hopefully resemble words coming out, Ryeowook’s low chuckle giving no indication of whether they’re nonsense or exactly what he wants to hear. Suddenly, there’s a pointed, slightly rough friction added to the smooth slide of his mouth. It’s so _good_ , now, _now_ it’s too much, Henry’s absolutely done for, the wave is cresting, it’s crashing down and leaving him lying broken on the shore. While he’s dazed, Ryeowook gives his thighs a quick squeeze, somehow puts his clothes back in order, then grips his hips with possessive affection, sporting an innocent grin.

“I missed you,” Ryeowook says sweetly, as if a bitter taste isn’t still lingering on his tongue, as if it was even possible for anyone else to be as exquisite as he is. He looks at Henry like he’s made of sunshine and butterflies fluttering by, turning to summer in his heart.

“I can tell,” Henry says, voice faint with temporary exhaustion, and motions him closer with his arms. Ryeowook goes easily, for all that he’s visibly hard, seemingly content to wait for a minute in Henry’s snug, slightly shaky hold. Despite the added pressure on his diaphragm, it’s like this that he can finally breathe.


End file.
